Bottle Bottom Blues
by Courtanie
Summary: Stan knows that hitting the bottom of his beer doesn't make the pain go away completely. But it dulls him enough that seeing Kenny and Kyle together doesn't completely kill him, it just shows him the truth. T for language.


_**A/N: A story dedicated to my wonderful Neecha, who has taken me into his home and helped me through a very difficult period in my life, and has become perhaps the best friend that I could ever hope for. I love you so much, Nee. You are a beautiful person and I shall love you until the end of time ;w;**_

_**Inspired by S15E09**_

_**Enjoy :3 **_

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><p>It just wasn't <em>fair.<em>

Stan sat across the table from the two of them, balancing his beer bottle with the tip of his finger, his glance fleeting between twirling it around on the table and glaring at them.

_He__'__d_ taken everything that he wanted before Stan could even blink. _He__'__d_ just swooped in under his nose and grabbed the one chance of happiness that the boy could ever perceive for himself.

_He__'__d_ grabbed his best friend all for himself, completely desecrating the once nearly impenetrable bond that the two of them had previously shared.

Stan felt bad for feeling as he did. For a while, the alcohol had helped him. It made everything that seemed wrong all of a sudden seem right again. He'd become dependent on its liquid bliss to get him through the day. But now, it was nowhere near helping him. Each taste of fire that poured down his throat only seemed to lessen the blows only slightly as he saw them sharing every laugh, every touch, every kiss.

Everything that should have belonged to him and _only_ him.

The slight numbing tranquility that the alcohol gave him was enough for him to stay permanently attached to the bottle. He knew that it was killing him, but watching Kenny and Kyle together seemed to deal him more damage than a decaying liver ever could.

"Stan?" that voice just beamed through his head, igniting all the hurt once again. He hated that voice. He loved it. He longed to hear it. But he knew that he wouldn't be getting it in the fashion that he wanted most. That was reserved for Kenny and _only _Kenny.

One more sip before replying. That was his rule.

He did so, swallowing each tingling ounce gratefully. The beer understood him in ways that Kyle never could. It caressed him, made him feel good. All the things that Kyle. Never. Would.

"What?" he asked back, smacking his lips tiredly, shooting his slightly-bloodshot eyes to hone in on Kyle and _only _Kyle.

The redhead tilted his head slightly and Stan tried his best to ignore the orange-covered arm that was wrapped around the boy's shoulders.

"Are you okay, Dude? You seem more off than usual."

"As if that's possible," Kenny snorted. "He's been lost in Wonderland ever since he fell down the rabbit hole of booze."

Stan tried to restrain the ferocious glare that he could feel building up in his face. Kenny didn't have a right to speak to him. He didn't have the right to touch Kyle. He didn't have a right to do anything but sit there and shut up like he used to when they were kids.

"I'm fine," he breathed out, nearly amazed at his ability to keep his voice under control. He knew that he'd become his father in a sense. When he drank too much, he was out of hand. But he knew that he had only had enough to get a slight buzz so far. He'd save the ranting and throwing of objects until he got home.

Same as usual.

"Are you sure?" Kyle asked. Stan bit the inside of his lip. Regardless of Kenny's useless existence, _his_ Kyle was still there. The one that was always concerned for him, the one that would always be there when things just got a little to hard for Stan to handle. He'd always be there. They'd promised each other after a fallout in middle school that'd shaken them to the core until they couldn't stand hating each other any longer. They'd sworn that they'd always be together.

Stan regretted not making that so much more of a literal sense now.

"Positive," he nodded, switching his glance from Kyle's face down to the bottle in his hand. He looked around the kitchen a bit from his lowered view. He had planned this night to be only himself and Kyle. But after Kyle told him that Kenny would be at the house as well, he couldn't exactly ask Kyle to tell him to buzz off. After all, Kenny was Kyle's _boyfriend_.

Even the thought of that word left a vile taste along Stan's palate. That just _wasn__'__t _how it was supposed to be. They were the dynamic duo of South Park High, right? Always Stan and Kyle. Never anyone else in that damnable equation. But no. Now it was Kyle and Kenny and oh hey look it's drunken Stan towing behind them like a tugboat behind the barge that had become their relationship.

Their oh-so-fucking-_perfect_ relationship.

He looked up just in time to see Kenny nuzzling his head against Kyle's.

'_Great.__' _Stan thought bitterly, his heart pounding angrily as he saw Kyle's worried face for him melt into a contented, blushing smile. Kenny wasn't made for Kyle. Kyle deserved affection that only Stan would know how to give him. Kenny was nothing more than someone who wanted in Kyle's pants. Stan knew it. Hell, Cartman knew it. The whole fucking school knew it. They'd all seen Kenny eying him like a piece of fresh meat strung up for the dogs. They'd all watched him go through girl after boy after anything else that had an ass. That's all Kenny was good for. Looking for a piece of nice ass. And the whole school knew that Kyle's was one that _anyone _would love to have their hands on.

Stan took a furious swig of his drink, unable to control the shaking of his hands. This was getting to be too much for him. Something had to be done. Something had to be said. Kyle was getting himself deeper and deeper into this hole that he thought was true love and caring from Kenny. Kenny would dump him just as soon as the word 'love' was uttered. Kenny McCormick didn't know how to be committed. He just fucked someone until he was bored with them. That had been the way that he always worked. He wouldn't change. Not for Kyle. Kyle wasn't important enough to him.

"So, Stanny-boy," Kenny started, taking his own drink and staring at him with a crooked grin.

'_Don__'__t__ you__ smile__ at __me,__you __manipulative__ fucker,__' _Stan thought.

"When's football season starting again?" he asked.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugged carelessly, staring past the blonde's head. "I don't give two shits."

"What?" Kyle asked incredulously. "Stan, you've played football since we were first graders."

"I'm aware," he said, taking another long, hearty sip. "Ready for a change in my life."

"Might be a better change if you put down the bottle every now and again," Kyle lectured, his eyes narrowing slightly.

'_Not unless that means I get you instead of that asshole.'_

"I don't think so," Stan replied, scoffing indifferently. "I'm just tired of playing year after year."

"What happened to playing for the Broncos?" Kenny asked. "Bro, that's been your dream for...for-fucking-ever!"

"I'm allowed to have different dreams as I get older, Kenny," he rolled his eyes.

"Like what?" Kyle demanded. "Drinking yourself into a coma? Because as far as I've seen, that's the only goal that you've been working towards for years, Stan!"

Stan glared at him slightly, though his insides couldn't help but do a little tap dance of joy. He'd noticed. He'd been paying attention to him even with his lips permanently attached to McCormicks'. He still cared, even if only a little.

He guzzled down the last half of his beer in indignation towards Kyle's outburst. The bottle was slammed back down onto the table as he licked his lips. "I'm 20 years old, I'm supposed to be a wild drinking machine," he shrugged.

"Hey, Asshole, we're 20, too," Kyle gestured between himself and Kenny. "You don't see us drunk all the time, do you?"

"You're 19," Stan corrected.

"Shut up, I'm close enough," he glared. "Point is is that what you're doing is unhealthy, not to mention it's obviously the thing that's holding you back from what you loved before you got into your damnable habits."

'_Oh __Kyle,__you__ have__ no __idea__ how__ long __this __has __been __going __on.__' _Stan thought exhaustively. "Maybe I just need some time to think about what I want," he retorted, grabbing another beer from the cardboard holder next to them and twisting off the top. "Some of us don't know exactly what they want to do like you do, Kyle."

"I'm well aware of that but there's also not going to be much hope for you if you keep drinking like that," his face dropped with Kenny's as they watched Stan down another half of the bottle.

"Dude...chill out," Kenny blinked. "You don't need to get drunk, Man."

"Oh shut up, you're an alcoholic, too," Stan glared.

"Ky sobered me up quite a bit," he shrugged, leaning back. "Gave me this full-blown health lesson. He even fucking quizzed me on it," he smirked, elbowing the redhead. "I promised not to drink as much if he'd-"

"Stop," Kyle slapped his hand over the blonde's mouth. He looked at Stan, "Point is that he promised to stop."

Stan raised his brow quizzically before shaking it off. "Look I don't need your fucking stories about alcohol poisoning or any shit like that. I just do this because it makes me feel good."

"Other things can make you feel good," Kyle leered. "The answer isn't going to be in the bottom of a bottle."

"Sex makes you feel good," Kenny pulled off Kyle's hand and leaned back. "Go get laid."

'_I__ would __but __you __took __him__ away __from__ me,__ you __dicklicking__ ass-sucker.__' _Stan squirmed in his seat, his anger threatening to rear its ugly, beer-infested head. "Some of us don't _have_ someone to lay," he glared.

"There's a wonderful girl on ninth who does a great job for dirt-cheap." Kenny smirked. "Used to be one of my favorites, but now I have a new one," he squeezed Kyle's waist a bit.

"Kenny, shut up!" Kyle hissed, swatting at his head.

Stan growled under his breath, putting his hands down and gripping the edge of his seat in silent rage. There was nothing more he wanted to do than throw his fist right at that smug bastard's face.

Kenny chuckled at his fire-red face before glancing at the clock on Kyle's wall. "Shit, I gotta get home," he muttered.

"Aw," Kyle pouted.

"Sorry, Babe, got work tomorrow mornin'," he sighed, standing up and stretching tiredly. "Stan, you may wanna get some sleep yourself," he stated before heading towards the archway between the kitchen and the living room.

"Hang on, I'll walk you to the door," Kyle said, hopping up and scurrying beside him. Stan watched after them angrily. Kyle never did that for him anymore. He just said 'see ya' and went back to whatever the fuck he was doing beforehand. Kenny ruined everything. Absolutely _everything._

Stan's ears perked at the sound of them talking to each other, leaning back to hear them better.

"_Be __careful __with __him,__" _he heard Kenny say. _"__If __he __tries __to __hit __ya __or __anythin__'__,__ call __me __and __I__'__ll __come__ kill __him.__"_

"Like to see you try," Stan muttered, swishing down another mouthful.

"_I__'__m...sure__ he__'__ll __be __fine,__" _Kyle said hesitantly. _"__I__ call __you __tomorrow __regardless.__"_

"_Okay.__ Love__ ya,__" _Kenny said before Stan heard the distinct sound of a kiss and his heart dropped.

'_Don__'__t__ say __it. __Don__'__t __say __it...__' _he pled, his eyes shutting tightly.

'_Love__ you,__too,_' Kyle replied softly.

Stan's body went into a rage, his nerves racking against each other in a burning fury. He _couldn__'__t_ love him. He fucking could _not_ have just heard that. It wasn't fucking possible.

His eyes bore down on the table, half-expecting a hole to burn straight through the polished maple. This wasn't fucking possible. Kyle was supposed to love _him._His best friend of God knows how many years. That one person that was _always _there for him no matter what. How in the living hell could Kenny Fucking McCormick just swoop in and completely take over what was once his role? How could he have single-handedly beat Stan down until he was practically nothing compared to the blonde in Kyle's eyes? How?

Stan's inner turmoil distracted him enough to make him jump when Kyle finally walked back into the room and stood beside him, looking down at him tiredly. "Stan." he said.

Stan took another long sip before looking at him, watching as the blissful relaxation from the alcohol finally seemed to start taking effect, his vision of the boy in front of him blurring if only slightly.

"Stan, what the fuck is going on with you?" he demanded. "Why are you such an asshole to Kenny anymore? You've been like this ever since we started dating. I don't fucking get you! You're supposed to be happy for me!" he exclaimed.

'_I __would__ be __if __you __were __with __someone __better __than __that __assmunch,__' _Stan growled inwardly. He looked at him hard, narrowing his bloodshot eyes and trying to study his face. "You...you love him?" he questioned, praying to God that Kyle didn't hear his voice crack at the damnable L word.

Kyle's shoulders dropped and he shifted uncomfortably. "You were listening."

"You were talking and I could hear you. That's not listening, that's existing." Stan didn't have any idea if that made sense but fuck it all, he _had _to know.

Kyle straightened up, his green eyes weighing on him heavily even in his drunken stupor. "Yes, Stan. I do. And he loves me back. At first I thought it was just...because he was so nice to me and because I haven't had anyone like that. But...dammit Stan this is fucking real as it gets."

"How do you know?" he demanded, getting to his feet and stumbling slightly.

"He makes me happier than...than anything else ever could," he said softly, avoiding eye contact with him.

"What about me?" Stan shouted, sending Kyle backwards a bit in shock at his outburst. "I make you happy! I have for so much longer than that asshole!"

"Hey! That asshole happens to be my boyfriend, you dickfucker!" Kyle shouted back, his fists clenched at his sides. "And it's different!"

"Oh what? Does he fuck you in the ass in just the right ways? Is THAT why you "love" him," he quoted in the air.

Kyle's face blanched before the full onslaught of furious red overshadowed his narrow cheeks. Stan knew that he'd hit a nerve, the very nerve that Cartman so loved to taunt and tease. He knew that he should be absolutely petrified at that look. And were it not for the alcohol flowing through his system warmly, he'd probably be pissing his pants right then and there.

"You...I can't even...Stan what the FUCK is wrong with you?" He screamed. "No I don't love him for the sex!"

"Well that's why he loves _you_!" he retorted. "Goddammit, Kyle, how the hell are you so blind?"

Kyle's face dropped into hurt and Stan instantly regretted his words. But someone had to say it. Someone had to be there to comfort him when he realized the truth. Who better to pick up the pieces than Stan himself?

"You...moronic...asshole," Kyle panted through gritted teeth, his eyes locked on Stan like a bull ready to charge at the matador. "You know what that 'condition' was for Kenny sobering up? Huh? HUH?" he stepped forward and pushed Stan's shoulders back, though he barely managed to get him a step backwards. "It was until he hit three months sober, I wouldn't get in a bed with him, you ass!" he screamed. "He wasn't just with me because of my ass, you insensitive fucker!"

Stan blinked, his vision blurring much more horrifically than before. "That's not fucking true!" he spat. "Kenny only wanted in your pants!"

"We've slept together four fucking times in five months, Stanley!"

Full name. Stan knew that meant that he was in for a world of hurt if he didn't backtrack like a motherfucker on crack. But what Kyle was saying just _wasn__'__t__ fucking __true._ There was just no way that Kenny would keep his greedy, filthy hands off of someone as perfect as Kyle. There was no conceivable way!

"Stop lying!" he yelled.

"WHEN THE FUCK DO I LIE?" He punched him hard in the shoulder, sending Stan stumbling back a good bit. Stan stared at him, his fist still raised as he panted, nothing but death behind those usually oh-so-soft green eyes.

"He doesn't care about you, Kyle!" he said, walking towards him and putting his hands on the smaller boy's shoulders. "I'm trying to help you!"

"You're fucking drunk and retarded! You don't know what he does for me, Stan! He makes me happy! He cares for me like no one else can or will! You just don't fucking get it!"

Stan paused, shaking in place as he gripped onto Kyle's shoulders tightly, terrified of losing him if he let go. This just couldn't happen like this. Kyle was so smart, how was he so _blind_ to the truth? Kenny would cause him nothing but pain. He'd be tossed away like a discarded cigarette, bound for the wind to pick up and only carry towards more of the trash heap.

"I could make you happier," he hissed. Before realizing it himself, his face flew towards Kyle's and their mouths collided furiously. Kyle let out a shocked scream before Stan pushed him down onto the table, connected to his lips like they were his lifeline. He felt Kyle pushing him away, screaming and trying to turn his head away from his hungry lips. Stan didn't care. He would show him just how much he cared. Just how much love and passion that they could feel for each other if only Kyle would just give him that chance, if he would realize how much of a mistake Kenny was. His fingers dug into Kyle's arms and he felt the boy going rigid, a glimmer of hope passing through him that it was Kyle coming to common sense, realizing that this was true love, that this kiss had opened the doorway for himself.

Stan let himself wander in that transcendental bliss before reality came crashing upside his head, letting out an earth-rattling shatter in his ear. He screamed as the impact caught up to him and fell off of Kyle, clasping the side of his head and curling up on the floor. He groaned, looking at his hand to see a smear of blood and beer coming off the side of his face. Kyle loomed over him, glaring at him and shaking, the neck of the broken bottle still clasped tightly in his hand.

He bit his lip before turning to the archway and walking out. Stan watched him, blinking slowly and still rubbing at his throbbing head. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and moaned in pain before sitting himself up very lethargically. It looked a hell of a lot less painful in the movies.

Kyle came walking back in a grabbed Stan's sleeve, starting to drag him towards the living room. Stan blinked. For a small guy, Kyle had a hell of a lot of strength when he was angry. Usually he couldn't so much as push Stan over but now he was hauling him around like a girl dragging her doll across the floor. Kyle stopped and threw Stan forward towards the open front door.

"Get out of my house," he said lowly.

Stan looked between him and the door, grasping at the frame and managing to get halfway up before Kyle yanked him straight onto his feet. "Ky...I..."

"Don't you fucking _Ky _me," he snarled. "Get the fuck out of here before I really do call Kenny and let him kill you."

"Kyle...come on," he rasped out. "I...I really...Kenny doesn't...deserve you..."

"That is my decision to make. Not yours. And as far as I'm concerned, between the two of you, Kenny deserves me more than you ever could. He wouldn't fucking go after me on my kitchen table when I said no," he hissed.

"You...never said no."

"Tell that to any court if you try to rape someone again and see if it holds up," he sneered, pushing him out into the cold night air. He glared at him a few more seconds before shaking his head. "Get away before I fucking call the cops," he snapped before slamming the door shut between the two of them.

Stan listened to the sound of the deadbolt locking and felt his heart drop. A wave of tears beaded his lashes and he slowly stepped back away from the house, watching carefully to see if Kyle had second thoughts. If his heart would magically open up to Stan and let him embrace him in the love that he truly deserved.

No such luck.

The lights outside of Kyle's house flickered off and Stan was left in the dark, feeling snow softly drifting down onto his bare face. He pulled his hat out of his coat pocket and slowly placed it over his head, hissing as he went over his wound.

He sniffled, wiping away the warm streams that now poured down his face without his knowledge. Wave after wave of hurt and drunken anger came out of him in droves. Kyle was too naïve for his own good. He was going to get hurt. He was going to be crushed and he wouldn't even let Stan try to save him.

Stan looked up at the black sky, letting the cold wash over his flustered face as his body shook in anger and hurt. "...Shit."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Mm I miss Style. I really do.**_

_**of course me being me, there just had to be some K2 in there too, lolzers.**_

_**/needs to write legit Style one of these days ~_~**_

_**Thanks**__** for **__**R&Ring!**__**:3**_


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